


Details

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Fluff, Lestrade being confused, M/M, Sally being a bitch, a bit of kissing, sleepy sherlock at one point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It kind of just happened.  John moved in with Sherlock, and instead of helping him solve cases and save London, he kind of fell in love with him instead.</p><p>Or; in which instead on Sherlock invited John to come and solve The Study in Pink with him, he went and John stayed working at the clinic, and they kind of fell in love. (title came from Sherlock's line in "Many Happy Returns" where he's talking to Lestrade and says "Only lies have details")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Details

There was nothing particularly special about that day, in all reality. It was cloudy out, cold and the air felt damp, but that was all normal. Sherlock got called in for a case; normal as well.

Although, John's curiosity about the cases and Sherlock's friends - ignoring Sherlock's countless denials of " _they're not my friends, they can barely stand me_!" - he questioned on. The older man was not letting up easily.

"John," Sherlock stated slowly, holding the short, blonde man by his shoulders and hunching his shoulders so they were on eye level. "You know that I do love you with all my heart,  _right_?"

"Well, I'd sure hope so, or this would be bloody pointless." John stated, lifting his left hand to show of the bronze ring that graced his finger. Sherlock smiled fondly at him, and John gave him the middle finger.

"And you know that I like to keep my work separate from my private life, so why can't you just leave it at that?" Sherlock pleaded.

"Then why does Mycroft get to you your cases with you sometimes?"

"Because I barely like him, so I have no intentions of trying to keep him from harms way. Okay?" He smiled, leaning in a bit. Exasperated, John let out a sigh and slumped back against the wall behind him. Sherlock leaned in closer, letting his lips brush over his husbands ever so slightly. "Okay?"

"Alright, fine." He finally caved, resulting in an almost proper kiss, though it was really barely a peck.

"Alright, well then I best be off, and you have work, so I'll see you tonight?"

"Yes, run along, solve the homicide." John waved to the door. Sherlock smiled, dashing from the room, only to have his head reappear in the doorway next to John's head a moment later.

"Almost forgot, love you." He puckered his lips and John rolled his eyes, complying to the younger mans request and pressing their lips together, letting his hand rest on the brunettes' jawline for a moment before he disappeared down the steps, his quick footsteps thumping down the steps.

John set to pulling his jacket on and getting ready to go to his job at the clinic.

×•×

Nothing eventful happened for a while after that, Sherlock had few cases to work on, so he played the violin while John was at work, and stuck to his husbands side like a barnacle to a boat when he was home. John joked that it was like when they'd first gotten together, and Sherlock had been so eager about their relationship. Sherlock told him that he was still just as eager, just his body wasn't so much anymore. John chided him that it was barely three years prior, and if Sherlock was worrying about his own age, then what did that say about John's age?

"It's not the same," Sherlock reasoned as they lay on the couch, the fireplace crackling in front of them, the soft sound of Mrs. Hudson's music coming from downstairs. "You're quite tiny, so that takes  _years_  off."

"Was that an insult?" John tilted his head back to look at the taller man. He was sitting with his back pressed to Sherlock's chest, long arms wrapped around his own torso. His head rested on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock tipped his chin down slightly to look at John.

"Never, it's one of your many charms, Mister Watson." He smiled, a bit too wide for his face, eyes crinkling up almost completely. John laughed softly, making Sherlock shake slightly with the movement. He dipped his head down a bit to kiss John's cheek softly, letting his lips linger on the skin. John's laughter slowly faded, pulling his face away ever so slightly so he could turn and press their lips together. Sherlock hummed in approval, lifting a hand to cup John's cheek as they both shuffled slightly to gain better access to the kiss. Sherlock broke it first, looking down and breathing heavily.

"We should probably go to bed soon, yea?" He panted softly. He glanced up to see John smiling at him. John pressed their lips back together for a fraction of a moment, biting Sherlock's lower lip and pulling at it a bit before releasing it and standing, smoothing down his shirt before turning and walking out of the room. Sherlock was quick to stand and follow.

×•×

The next day, that was the day  _everything_  seemed to happen on. Well at least that was how Sherlock thought of it.

He woke earlier that usual to John getting up. He looked to their bedside clock, that read that it was barely past six in the morning.

"John," he croaked, voice raspy from sleep.

"Sh," John hushed him, taking the hand that the younger man reached out towards him. "Go back to sleep, love."

"Come back to bed then," Sherlock reasoned, still holding John's had as he used his free hand to lift the covers, revealing his almost nude body.

"They need me at the clinic, Mary just got sick, and no one can get ahold of Mike, I'll be home in a few hours." John spoke softly, kneeling next to Sherlock's side of the bed to kiss his temple lightly. Sherlock groaned and reached an arm up to hook over his husband, successfully trapping him in place. John merely laughed, wiggling around, and bit the inside of Sherlock's bicep, the younger man drawing his arm back immediately.

"Cannibal." he yawned, smiling. John ruffled his hair and went off to shower. When he came out, Sherlock was wrapped in a blanket sitting on his black chair that faced the kitchen, claiming he couldn't sleep without John under his arm. It was impossible.

 _Just_   _impossible_.

×•×

A few hours after John had left, Detective Inspector Lestrade called, saying they had a case. Sherlock readily accepted, eager to be out of the empty flat, though the case seemed rather drab, quite open and shut. The police were just  _lazy_.

He phoned John on his way out, knowing very well that he was on his lunch. John told him it was fine and he'd have dinner ready when Sherlock got home and  _no, you have to eat or someone's sleeping on the couch,_ so Sherlock agreed as the cab pulled up to the address Lestrade had given him. He hung up with a quick "Love you, see you tonight." then got out of the cab, going inside.

"Oh, yay." Sally Donovan rolled her eyes at the sight of the consulting detective. "Who called the freak in?"

"Donovan, shut it." Lestrade chastised, walking past her, but not commenting on her insult before leading Sherlock away.

"So what seems to be the problem?" Sherlock smiled, rubbing his hands together.

"Oh, don't do that." Lestrade made a face, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to ask, but was already being answered.

"Don't look so excited," Donovan explained as she walked in, shoes clicking on the wooden floor. "It's not what an innocent person would usually do at the scene of a crime."

He gave her a look, but held his hands behind his back none the less, mindlessly toying with his ring as Lestrade and Donovan took turns explaining the case; a young woman had been assaulted in her house, and nothing was taken but the memory drive from her phone and computer while she'd been unconscious.

"Anyone else live in the house?" Sherlock asked, walking around and looking at all the little decorations and nic-naks that made the place into a home. He picked up a picture, part of it ripped off. He flipped it over to read the date on the back.

"No, she's been living here alone since she moved in three months ago." Donovan answered as Sherlock walked outside to where the woman was sitting. He held the picture up in front of her.

"Who did you rip out?"

"What?" she blinked at him, tear tracks dried on her cheeks, makeup smudged under her eyes and around her lips. He held the photo closer to her face.

"This picture was taken less than five months ago, and you keep it on the coffee table, so it's obviously important enough that you want to have it handy to show off to people, but there was someone in the photo that you didn't want in it. But it was quite spur of the moment, or you'd have at least taken the time to properly cut them out. Break up with anyone lately?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but froze, eyes glazing over like she was just realizing something, before she started crying again, blubbering about ' _the pictures_ ' and Sherlock started towards where Lestrade and Donovan were.

"It was the ex. Can I go now?" he blinked at them. Donovan huffed out a breath of air while the DI rolled his eyes.

"Plans, freak?"

"No, just there's a of crying and she got makeup on me." he motioned to his shoulder, where there was the slightest bit of mascara, barely visible on the dark coat, from when she'd managed to hug him while crying. Donovan stuck her lower lip out in an over exaggerated pout, but Sherlock was looking at the screen of his mobile already, ignoring the rude brunette.

"Alright, let's go then." Lestrade sighed out, apparently giving them both a ride home. He herded the two towards his car, Sherlock sitting in the back, looking at his phone as the front seats got occupied, both wondering what could possibly be so important to  _Sherlock Holmes_. Neither asked as Lestrade pulled away from the crime scene.

×•×

They had stopped because Donovan and Lestrade wanted coffee, so Sherlock got out of the car to have cigarette while he waited for them. He'd had his left hand in his pocket, his right holding the lit cigarette delicately between his lips as he inhaled the last few puffs of smoke, before dropping it to the ground when Lestrade and Donovan walked out with their cups in their hands.

"Took you long enough." Sherlock muttered, crushing the last bit of embers from the cigarette out with the toe of his shoe, slipping his right hand into his coat pocket. The other two shared a look, as if to consider just leaving him on the curb and driving away.

Sherlock was standing by the car, looking up, across the street at the park when he saw a familiar blonde head, walking and looking down at his phone. Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see a text from John saying that he got off work early. He'd just sent a reply, saying he'd see him soon then, and was planning to go surprise him at the park when  _it_  happened.

It almost felt like slow motion, watching as some woman a few feet away from started screaming. Sherlock had glanced to see the woman had been pushed down, her bag stolen right from her hand. The man, whose face Sherlock couldn't see properly, that held the tacky green bag, was running in the general direction of John.

Lestrade was already pulling his badge out, starting across the street, but Sherlock was completely frozen, knowing what would happen if John didn't move  _right away._

Bur before his body could process what was going on, it was happening. John, ever the hero, was trying to block the obviously much bigger man from running from the park as Lestrade was shouting about being a cop. This resulted in the man giving John a harsh push out of his way, and while he ran, Lestrade uselessly trying to chase him, Sherlock was already rushing to John, watching, in slow motion, as the man stumbled slightly, slipping on an empty soda can that had been discarded on the pavement, and smacking his head against a tree. Even from a few feet away, Sherlock heard the crack, his stomach instantly flipping as his blood ran cold.

"Donovan," he shouted, knowing well that she'd gone to help the woman. "Call an ambulance, he's got severe head trauma." he was trying to sound calm as the finally reached where his unconscious husband lay. He felt helpless, unsure if he could touch him without injuring him further. He could hear Donovan on the phone as Lestrade came wandering back, out of breath and looking defeated.

He walked straight to Donovan and the woman, ignoring Sherlock completely.

The brunette, meanwhile, was trying to wake John up while muttering to himself. He choked when he saw the slight flutter of eyelashes, and a soft groan.

"Okay,  _ow_." John wheezed slightly, and Sherlock let out a soft, somewhat teary sound noise that was a mix of a laugh and a sigh.

"Ambulance is here." Donovan shouted, Lestrade walking over as the sounds of sirens finally pierced Sherlock's ears. John seemed to hear them at the same time, flinching and shutting his eyes, entire body jolting.

"Hey, don't move." Sherlock scolded slightly. John choked on a small laugh as the paramedics came rushing over, ushering Sherlock out of their way to get John onto the gurney without hurting him further. He went to follow, but Lestrade grabbed his arm. He turned to give him a look.

"You can't just go with some random guy into the ambulance."

"Wh-"

"In case you didn't know, that's not how  _human's_  do things in society." Donovan gave him a fake, tight lipped smile. Sherlock ignored them both, and pulling his arm away, walking quickly over to the ambulance and speaking to a paramedic. The man nodded, and Sherlock got into the back of the ambulance, the door shutting behind him.

"What the  _hell_  is he doing?" the DI groaned, and Donovan sighed.

"I thought we stopped asking that question years ago. Come on, let's follow them to the hospital so he doesn't get punched in the face by a nurse." she pursed her lips, and they headed to the car.

×•×

 Sherlock was pacing around the waiting room, biting his thumb as he waitied for a doctor to come and talk to him. John had fallen unconsious when they'd been moving him, and they'd left Sherlock in the waiting room upon arrival at the hospital.

"What the hell was that, Sherlock?" Lestrade practically shouted at the consulting detective as he and Donovan entered the waiting room. Sherlock looked up, thumb held in place between his teeth.

"What was what?" he lowered his hand.

"We told you that you can't just go with random people."

"He's not a random person, Donovan." Sherlock glared at her.

"Oh, so you have a friend now?" she smiled mockingly at him. Sherlock merely breathed out of his nose, walking over to Sherlock.

"Mr. Holmes?" he asked, Sherlock turning to him. "Doctor Watson is up, we can go see him."

" _Please_." Sherlock was walking to the corridor, the balding man rushing towards him.

"What. The. Hell?" Lestrade shook his head, running a hand over his eyes. "What was that, Sally?"

"That's the real question, now isn't it? I mean, that guy - Watson? - he seemed pretty attractive-" she stopped at the look from the detective inspector. "What? Why would he want to be friends with the freak?"

"You need to stop calling him that."

"That doesn't answer my question." she set a hand on her hip.

"I don't know how to answer your question, I never knew he talked with anyone but Mycroft, and he's never mentioned any friends of Sherlocks."

"Sherlock Holmes does not have friends," Donovan concluded, walking over to the front desk and smiling sweetly. "Hi, we're from the London Police Department-" she handed the woman her badge. "-and we just came in to ask Doctor Watson about his assult earlier in the park?"

"Um, alright." the woman blinked at her, Lestrade following when a doctor came to get the two of them, and they explained that Donovan had questioned the woman at the park, and just wanted to see if  _John_  knew anything else.

"Well, this is it." the man knocked lightly on the door.

×•×

When Sherlock got into the room, the doctor stood by the door as Sherlock rushed to the bed where John was laid out, head rested on the pillow, morphine drip attatched to his arm.

"H-" his greeting was cut off by his husband practically falling onto him to him. "Hey, I'm fine. Sherlock, I'm  _okay_." he soothed, rubbing the taller mans back, nodding at the doctor who left the room.

"You passed out in the ambulance, and you didn't-"

"It was just a minor concussion. I only fainted because I managed to hurt my leg. Again." John smiled, patting his right leg. "It just fractured, but considering it was already injured-" John just shook his head as Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed.

"I had seen you across the street, my ride home decided to stop for coffee."

"And you needed a smoke?" John smiled, amused at the shocked look on Sherlock's face. "You still smell like smoke, genius." he laughed, reaching up to grab the collar of Sherlock's jacket, pulling him in for a kiss. "Nope." he turned his head after a moment.

"What?"  Sherlock leaned in again.

"You taste like it too."

"Oh, haha, shut up." Sherlock kissed his cheek then stood to walk around the bed and grab the chair, pulling it beside the bed as John adjusted himself into a more upright position. John was laughing lightly as Sherlock pouted slightly. They both looked at the door when someone knocked.

"Come in," John smiled, Sherlock sitting up straighter in his seat. He folded his hands, letting them dangle between his knees as the doctor poked his head back into the room. Sherlock had a slight smile playing at his lips, still.

"Some people from the police department are here to talk to you." the doctor said, and Sherlock's smile instantly dropped. "They promised they wouldn't be more than a minute or two."

And, in walked a man with grey hair, and a tan girl with an abundance of dark curls. John glanced over to his husband, who was completely expressionless. The doctor headed out of the room after that, leaving the four in the room alone.

"Sherlock." the man said.

"George." Sherlock acknowledged him.

" _Greg_." the man - Greg, apparently - corrected him. "Sally and I-"

"Followed me to the hospital, and now John's room because neither of you can comprehend that I might just have a  _friend_ _._ " he said the last word in an almost scandalized voice.

"No, actually, we came to get a statement on the park." the girl smiled.

"Really, Donovan, where's your notepad?" Sherlock asked, and it threw John off to see his husband to emotionless and snappy. It almost reminded him of how he was when they first met, just a bit angrier without actually conveying the anger.

She froze at that, before managing to find one in her pocket.

"Sorry to disappoint, freak."

"Orignal, Donovan b-"

"Wait." John stopped him. "What did you just call him?"

"Hm?" she furrowed her brow.

" _Shit_." Lestrade muttered too quiet for anyone aside from Donovan to hear.

"Did you really just call him a  _freak_?" John asked, glaring at her. "Because he's so much smarter than you, or because you're just that completely and  _utterly_ stupid?"

"John-"

"No, Sherlock, if she's going to call you a freak, I'd love to hear why." John stared at her, Sherlock having stood up next to him.

"Have you ever heard him deduce anything? Or how  _excited_  he gets about a homicide? Or any form of crime? Or do you not know him well enough?"

"Get out of my room." John stated, glaring at her. She opened her mouth, but John was shouting at them both. "I am not answering any questions for her so  _get the fuck out of my room now, or so help me-_ " _  
_

"We're going." Lestrade stated, grabbing Donovan by the arm, pulling her out of the room and shutting the door behind them.

Sherlock looked at John, who had a hand pressed to his temple.

"God damn morphine."

×•×

"John.." Sherlock sighed. It had been a few days, and John was quite irritable. He didn't understand why Sherlock would put up with people like that on a daily basis, and refused to go in for questioning. Today, John was supposed to be headed home.

"I just don't understand," John was hobbling about a bit, unable to get a solid footing as he tried pulling his trousers up his legs. Him and Sherlock were in his hospital room, so Sherlock crossed the short distance to grab John's shoulders, steadying him. With his trousers on, he sat on the bed, pulling his white jumper on.

"It's work," Sherlock reasoned, sitting next to his husband. "Do your patients necessarily treat you well on a day to day basis?" Sherlock looked at him, and John glared in return. "That's what I thought, so if you'd like, we can go home now, as Mrs. Hudson has insisted on making you lunch when I commented on the fact that you didn't like the hospital food."

John didn't even ask how Sherlock know that he refused to eat the garbage they'd been trying to feed him, so he stood, with his husband's assistance, a crutch under one arm, Sherlock awkwardly under the other.

They took a cab back to baker street, and John was laughing as Sherlock was trying to help him into the flat, Mrs. Hudson offering, laughing as Sherlock told her that he was perfectly capable on his own, then almost sending John tumbling down the stairs.

For about a week, that was how things stayed; John wasn't working, because he couldn't really walk at all, and still was having horrid headaches, and Sherlock had taken it upon himself to stay home and play nurse.

×•×

John had been sitting on the couch, Sherlock asleep in their room at just after one in the afternoon still, having stayed up until only a few hours trying to determine the best way clean the blue dye he'd gotten on the white tablecloth that Mrs. Hudson had scolded him about.

John was just reading the paper when he heard a knock on the door, and got up, grabbing the cane he had taken to using while his leg healed, refusing to use the crutches, as he seemed to just knock everything over with them. He walked over to open the door of the flat as he heard Mrs. Hudson opening the door downstairs. He sighed to himself as he saw two faces appear from the street, the two that had come to his hospital. They both looked up after speaking to Mrs. Hudson for a moment, seeing John standing in the doorway of Sherlock's flat. The girl looked mildly confused, while the man - Lestrade? - looked more annoyed, but nearly as confused.

"May I help you two?" he asked, leaning against the doorway.

"We were hoping Sherlock would assist us in finding you, as we really do need your statement for the day at the park, as we would like to try and aprehend him." Lestrade spoke. John stood, looking down at the two faces, Mrs. Hudson having retreated to her own flat. He contemplated the idea for a moment.

"Fine, come up. But be quiet, Sherlock's sleeping still."

"He-" the woman started, but John was limping back into the flat, he stuck his head into the bedroom, where Sherlock was curled in on himself, one arm reached out to the empty space that John usually took up.

"Sherlock," he said in a loud whisper. Sherlock groaned softly. "The people from the police department came to question me." Sherlock groaned again, pulling John's pillow over his head, so John limped back to the sitting room, where the two were standing.

"So, I don't think we ever got fomally introduced," the man extended a hand as he spoke. "I'm Greg Lestrade, the Detective Inspector, and this is Sargent Sally Donovan. She'll be writing your statement."

"Doctor John Watson," John paused for a moment unsure what to say. He sat down on the couch, looking up at the two. Sargent Donovan sat in John's chair, while Lestrade looked around the room a bit. His eyes lingered for a moment on a picture of John and Sherlock's backs as they looked over the edge of a cliff - it had been their honeymoon.

"So what do you need to know?" he asked, setting the cane down beside the small sofa, leaning back and trying to stretch out his leg a bit, as it had been cramping from lack of use.

"To start off-" Lestrade started, but was interupted by the bedroom door opening and sherlock coming out, clad in just his pyjama bottoms and blue dressing gown, dark curls falling all about his face. John caught Donovan staring absently at Sherlock's chest, which, apparently to her  _surprise,_  had abs.

Sherlock eyed the detective inspector and sargent, before walking past both of them to curl up in the seat next to john, shutting his eyes as he let his head fall to John's lap. Without thinking, John started to absently run his fingers through Sherlock's hair, noting that their guests were openly gaping at them.

"Continue on." Sherlock yawned, waving his hand through the air.

"Right, um." Lestrade cleared his throat. "So, did you see the mans face at all?"

"No, I just turned and he rammed right into me." John shrugged, mindlessly twisting a curl around his finger before releasing it. "Don't really remember too much after that."

"Are you married?" Donovan suddenly asked, and Lestrade's attention fell quickly to the ring on the hand John had in Sherlock's hair.

"Masterful deduction, Donovan." Sherlock drawled sleepily, obviously no longer caring about people knowing about them. "Shall we next realize he lives in a one bedroom flat with me, and there are quite a few pictures of the two of us around the room?"

Sherlock had turned in to face John's stomach, trying to hide his smirk, not caring to watch their faces as they quickly put the pieces together. His smile still came through in his voice, however, and John shook his head, smiling fondly and looking up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry but you married  _him_?" Donovan asked, disbelief clear in her voice. John shut his eyes, before opening his eyes to glare at the girl, a slight smile curling his lips up. She fell silent, leaning back in her seat.

"I did, and I also saw you oggling his chest when he was walking out of the bedroom, so if you two would son kindly leave now, that would be greatly apprieciated,  _thank you_."

"I think we're done here, Sally." Lestrade motioned for her to follow, making her walk out first. As he went to close the door, he pause, seeing Sherlock looking up at John, the blonde man leaning down to kiss his cheek lightly before the door shut.

"I can't bel-"

"No one cares, Donovan." Lestrade cut her off, starting down the stairs.

 


End file.
